Damage Control
by fewthistle
Summary: *Non-explicit F/F Slash* Alex discovers that sometimes all we can do is help each other through things


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Damage Control 

By Fewthistle

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"It is a sin to believe evil of others, but it is seldom a mistake."

- H. L. Mencken

Disclaimer: These characters are the sole property of NBC Television and Wolf Productions. No copyright infringement was intended. No profit was made from their use. This story is the sole property of the author. Please do not archive without my permission.

Spoilers: Spoilers for the episode entitled, "Guilt", and for some of the last four episodes of Season Three of SVU.

Rating: PG-13 I would guess. 

Pairing: Det. Olivia Benson and ADA Alex Cabot from Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. 

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I.

It was never going to end well. She knew that from the outset, even before the botched attempt at catching that monster on tape. None of her cases ever ended well. No amount of justice, no grave pronouncements from a jury, no sentence, no matter how long, would ever make right what had been made so desperately, so utterly wrong. The tattered remnants of lives ruined beyond recognition, the broken pieces of innocence and trust, never to be mended, mocked the idea that anything that she did would ever be more than damage control.

Part of her believed that she had made the right choice. Part of her even believed the sanctimonious line she had attempted to feed Donnelley, that what she had done, she had done to prevent future victims from falling prey to this predator. And yet, lying here alone in the darkened refuge of her bedroom, Alex could admit to herself that Liz had been right. All of the pretense at heroics, all of the self-righteousness, all of the passion and anger had merely been the right actions for the wrong reasons. Although, she wasn't sure anymore. Hell, who knows, maybe they had even been the wrong actions for the wrong reasons. 

Reasons. One reason. Sam Cavanaugh. The rational part of her mind assured her that she wasn't responsible for what happened. She hadn't forced him to warn Barrett, she hadn't coerced him into testifying, and she most certainly hadn't put the pills in his hand. And yet, because she wanted to be the avenging angel, wreaking down vengeance on the abusers of children, on the rapists, and the murderers, a young boy lay in a hospital bed, his every breath forced into his lungs by a machine, any possibility of recovery or happiness lost. She could only pray that his battered, bruised soul had found peace, but that was the one thing that she couldn't quite believe.

She had risked her career, had put her friends in an untenable position, had even alienated a jurist for whom she had the utmost respect, all in order to assure that one criminal, one conveyor of evil would be stopped. The countless years that Roy Barrett would spend in prison seemed cold comfort to offer his victims. Too many lives had been destroyed. The law might have little to do with justice, but justice itself had absolutely nothing to do with fairness. While Roy Barrett lived, slept, ate, drank, dreamed, and one day, in the not too distant future, went free, Sam Cavanaugh would still be in a coma.

How peculiar, her mind registered, the effulgent gleam of the city night seeping in through her bedroom curtains, how frightfully odd that in this city where the brilliance of streetlights, the beacons of headlights, the neon flash of signs, and the confluent glare of a million lamps lit the sky like the burnished glow of a thousand tiny suns, that unspeakable things could find dark corners in which to hide, slipping out, evil and unbidden to haunt even our waking hours. And how pitiful our attempts to root them out, to stop them before they brought terror and heartache and fear into innocent lives. Damage control, that was all it was, all it would ever be. Tonight, perhaps more than others, she wondered if it would ever be enough.

Her inner musings were interrupted by the sound of her doorbell, echoing with an unnatural loudness in the silence of her apartment. Pushing herself wearily off the bed, Alex moved slowly down the hall towards the door, only a faint twinge of curiosity catching at the edge of her mind. It didn't matter who it was. She couldn't think of a single soul that she cared to see tonight.

Her cursory glance through the peephole in the door offered an amendment to that thought, however. She couldn't think of a single soul that she cared to see that she imagined would have any desire to see her. Of all the people who had a right to be angry and disappointed in her tonight, Olivia Benson was at the top of the list. She had lied to her, plain and simple. Oh, granted, she had tried to make certain that Olivia and Elliot would not be in a position of blame or responsibility, but nevertheless, she had lied, and regardless of the reasons, or the excuses, nothing she could say would alter that one essential fact.

Sliding the chain lock out of its slot and slipping back the deadbolt, Alex pulled the door open, trying to slow the sudden quickening of her pulse as Olivia's dark, flashing eyes met her own. The dark haired detective always had that affect on her, causing her stomach to drop and her heart to race. It was a feeling not unlike the one she had experienced as teenager, sitting in the front car of a roller coaster as it hung for a brief second, suspended in time, at the top of the first big hill, at that perfect moment when the laws of gravity asserted their rights and the train of cars plunged downward, hurtling through space.

"Hi," Olivia said quietly, her head tilted to the left a little as she regarded Alex. "I'm not disturbing you, am I? I know it's late, but I just got through and I thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing."

"No, I was just lying on the bed in the dark, feeling sorry for myself," Alex replied with a self-deprecating smile. "Clearly not something that you should worry about interrupting."

"We heard that Donnelly had suspended you for a month," Olivia said quietly, her mood still not quite clear as Alex continued to stand awkwardly in the doorway, trying to read the subtle language of Olivia's slender frame. 

"No less than I deserve, right?" Alex answered, the slight quirk of her lips doing little to belie the tinge of self-directed scorn in her tone. "I want you to know that I made sure that Donnelly knew that you and Elliot had nothing to do with it, that I mislead you as well."

"I never thought that you would hang us out to dry, Alex. If you think that's why I'm here, you're wrong," Olivia responded, her voice compellingly gentle. "I know why you did what you did. God knows, there have been plenty of times that I have stepped over that line. We all do it. If we didn't feel that need to do whatever it takes to stop one of these perps, then we all need to reconsider our line of work."

"Thanks, Olivia," Alex murmured, her eyes on the dark burgundy carpeting that lined the hallway of the pre-war building, half of her face obscured by a curtain of pale blonde hair. "I appreciate the support. I'm not sure if I deserve it, but I do appreciate it."

"You might want to consider reevaluating what you think you deserve, Alex, if a few kind words from a friend seem like more than you're entitled to," Olivia told her, a lifetime of selling herself short carried in every syllable.

The moment of silence that followed stretched on as Alex groped for the right response, the hum of the building's heating unit and the far off sounds of traffic on the street outside magnified. Alex felt her eyes pulled upwards, as if invisible strings raised her head, jerky and puppet-like, meeting Olivia's obsidian gaze. 

Alex watched, mesmerized, as the depths of Olivia's eyes revealed shadings of brown and black, of charcoal and sienna. Shifting shades of shadow and light, nothing more, nothing less. Orbs of brown and black and white, long lashes an ornamental fringe. Not windows to the soul, no matter what the poets said. 

As an ADA, Alex had stared into the eyes of killer and victim alike, never once being given a purview of the mind that lay behind them. Mannerisms, tics and quirks, speech patterns, body language, all those were better indicators of a person's thoughts and feelings than the usually misread glint or gleam in the eyes of friend or foe alike. If it was that easy, if all that was required was a long meaningful stare into the eyes of a suspect to determine their innocence or guilt, then they could cut the number of police on the streets in half, forget about evidence and lineups and witnesses, and rely solely on the revelations afforded the casual glance of a stranger. 

No amount of staring into depthless eyes was ever going to reveal to Alex the hidden recesses of Olivia's mind and heart. That knowledge didn't stop Alex from continuing to stare however, entranced at the subtle shift of colors.

"Well, I should get going," Olivia muttered finally, her gaze never wavering.

"You're right," Alex began, unaware for a moment that her answer was modifying the wrong words, till the widening of Olivia's eyes brought Alex up short. "Not that you should leave," she rushed to reassure, "but that I need to start thinking that maybe I should raise my expectations a little. I'm a terrible hostess. Please forgive me, I guess I was bracing myself for your being incredibly, and justifiably, pissed. Would you like to come in?"

"I don't want to intrude. I should head home, get something to eat," Olivia demurred, the slight smile on her full lips acknowledging Alex's admission.

"I was going to order in. There's a great Thai place down the street. Killer green curried vegetables. Care to join me?" Alex asked, her heart racing at the prospect that Olivia would say no, and even more so at the thought that she might say yes.

"Wine?" Olivia inquired, one eyebrow arched almost teasingly.

"I happen to have a wonderful bottle of Australian shiraz I've been waiting to open. Australia's near Thailand, isn't it?"

"Geography was never my strong point, but I'm pretty sure that they're at least in the same time zone," Olivia laughed, stepping past Alex into the wide foyer of the apartment.

Shutting the door behind them, Alex couldn't help but marvel that what had begun as an absolutely abysmal day had suddenly taken a turn for the better. With the warm muted lights of the living room casting a soft glow out into the hall, all of the shadows were relegated to somewhere out there, beyond this space and time. All the evils, all of the unspeakable things that they dealt with daily, were shut out in the chilling air of a late March night. For now, there was just this warm room and Olivia. 

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II.


End file.
